Ransom
"There's the man I want to see!" cheers Ed. Logan grunts, plunks down in the chair in front of Ed's desk. "A man of few words, ay?" "Get to the point, Ed." "Fine, fine." Gestures airily. "I'm afraid to admit I need your help." "And you think you're gonna get it after that shit you pulled last time?" "You have to admit it was the perfect distraction," smugs Ed. "/'And' you were very, /'very' well paid for it." Logan grudgingly concedes. "Take a look at this." Ed indicates something on the desktop. With a sigh, Logan heaves himself to his feet, leans over, studies the blueprint, mumbles, "Weegie." "Yep," agrees Ed, "a custom security system by Weegie." Logan frowns. "Unless you're really fast and the item's really small, you're gonna get busted working this joint." "That just won't do. Find me a hole, Kitten." "There /'is' no hole, Ed, unless you're a fucking mouse." Flops back into the chair, spreads his hands. "You're gonna have to find a different thing to steal or get someone to bring the 'whatever' out of that building for you." "Now, /'there's' an idea." Logan raises an eyebrow. "She's got /'quite' the reputation as a party girl ...." Turns to Logan. "Would you be in—" Logan's halfway to the door. "Where're you going?" calls Ed. Hand on the knob. "Far the fuck away from you." "Wha—" "I steal /'from' people, I don't steal /'people'." And he's out and gone. . Nate casually scans the bar, swirls her martini with the olive, and sighs. A musical laugh catches her ear. A musical laugh from an attractive young thing. The next laugh sets up a resonance behind Nate's navel. She hums, picks up her drink, swaggers over to Music's table. She sits on its edge, knee nearly brushing Music's hand. "Uh, hi there," says Music. "Can I help you?" Nate puts a hint of smoke in her voice. "Possibly." Tilts her head, displays the long line of her throat. "I'm looking for someone who can show me a good time. You wouldn't happen to be that someone, would you?" Music's lips creep up into a smile. "I dunno. Depends on what kinda good time you're looking for." "Hmm ... I was thinking drinks, darts, and perhaps sex, if the lead-up goes well." Music's improbably large eyes grow larger. "You don't mess about, ay?" Nate shrugs—a hint of bra-strap lace—sips her cocktail. "I've learned the best way to get what I want is to ask for it as directly as possible." Music giggles. "Saves time, amiright?" Nate smiles indulgently, slides to her feet. "It certainly does. Now, let's find a quiet table and some fresh drinks and get to know each other a little better." "Sure," says Music, swaying just a little on the way to their feet. Nate steadies them with a hand around their waist, steers them toward her favourite table, at the back. "What's your name, lovely?" "Lamb. What's yours?" "Call me 'Nate'." "I'll call you pretty much whatever you ask," Lamb giggles, leaning thankfully against Nate. "You're soooo pretty." Drinks go well, darts pass without injury, and then— Nate brackets Lamb against the wall under the fire escape— Lamb digs {her} fingernails into the skin between Nate's shoulder blades, makes all these little sounds against her neck that are /'so' doing it for Nate tonight, so she slips a leg between Lamb's thighs, encourages the them to grind against her with deeper, dirtier kisses. Lamb obliges and Nate /'really' likes where this is headed— A hand—larger, stronger than Lamb's—in her hair, yanking her head against her spine; another wrenches an arm up behind her back. "If you wanted to join in, you could've just asked," says Nate. "Though I prefer to negotiate rougher stuff in advance." More leverage applied and a masculine growl, to Lamb, ""Ye best be off, missy. No business of yours anymore."" Lamb, eyes dark and enormous, flees down the alley. ""Now, no fuss, no muss for you."" "Whatever you say," replies Nate. The creak of leather gloves and jacket, plastic flex-cuffs fitted over her wrists after they're rearranged at the small of her back. A firm one-handed grip while the other hand slips on a blindfold. A blindfold which leaves Nate a very clear view of the ground. She doesn't sigh. The grip tugs Nate toward a secondary alley. ""Right this way, miss."" "Lead on, fearless amateur," murmurs Nate. . Lamb stomps angrily to the end of the block, plunks down in the bus shelter. "'ey," greets a familiar voice from the other end of the bench. "You gonna lock me and leave me again?" Logan waves it off. "Brought you a pressie." Tosses— Lamb catches. "Keys?" A closer look. "Ooo. Mercedes keys." Glances at Logan. "You shouldn't have." He shrugs. "I suggest giving it five minutes, then going to the address in the GPS." "And do what when I get there?" "Crash a little party." Lamb grins. "Who's car is this?" "One guess," smirks Logan, pushing off. "Aww ... not gonna play chauffeur for me?" Logan waves over his shoulder. "I can steal 'em, but I can't drive 'em." Saunters off. Lamb shakes her head and chuckles. . Amateur unloads Nate from a nondescript—based on the interior—car, marches her across pea gravel and into a garage—echo-y, bare concrete floor, smell of oil—sits her in a straight-backed chair. Straight out of a bad spy movie. Nate doesn't sigh. ""You be a good young lady and this'll be over before you know it."" Nate rolls her eyes behind the blindfold, sighs, "Oh, dear. I'm afraid there's a problem with that plan." ""And what would that be?"" "I'm not a very good young lady." Boots /''stump'' closer. ""Oh really."" "I'm quite naughty, in point of fact," purrs Nate. Closer still. Shallow breathing and a whiff of arousal. Nate lets herself smile, separates her knees a fraction. "I also have this terrible thing for blindfolds." ""Do you now."" "Mmhmm." Leans forward, the barest bit, from the hip. "Care to help me with it?" Boots and leather shift. "It's so ... /'frustrating' when a lover sets up the perfect scenario and then /'refuses' to follow through." Nate sniffs. "It's the height of rudeness to make a woman beg." ""Is that so?"" Hot breath just below her ear. Nate turns her head, nuzzles a stubbly jaw, murmurs, "It is." Amateur kisses along the tendon of her neck— Nate rewards them with needy little noises— —drags blunt fingernails along her sides— —shivers, whimpers. —growls, ""You like that, ay?"" Nate offers a gasp Amateur properly takes for a 'yes'. Amateur kisses her mouth. Nate bestows a breathy moan and breaks off, panting. Amateur closes in again— Nate retreats, says, "I've been told I do some of my best work with my hands. I'd /'hate' to deprive you." Amateur holds their breath. Nate counts three, nips their jugular, feels the pulse there jump. Amateur fumbles about with fabric. Body temperature metal against the heel of Nate's palm and the cuffs separate. "That is /'much' more like it," she hums, drapes her arms around their neck, eases to her feet, presses herself against them. More kissing and she walks them backward, buries her fingers in their hair, scratches at their scalp. Amateur hints toward a more horizontal position. Nate obliges—down to her knees, onto her bum, tips over onto her back, Amateur kneeling across her thigh. Amateur braces a hand on either side of her head, nibbles her throat— Nate treats them to a little gasp. —groans, presses their mouth to her collarbone. She twists her hips, rolls Amateur onto their back, straddles them. She hitches up the hem of her dress, takes a solid grip on the needle secreted there, jabs it into Amateur's side. Amateur flinches, hisses. "What was that?" Nate sits back on their thighs, pulls off the blindfold, tosses it aside. Amateur's muscles slacken. "What did you do to me?" "That was a shot of a non-deadly neurotoxin." Grins, all teeth. "Well, 'non-deadly' if I used the proper dosage." "You crazy—" Nate taps Amateur's lips closed, smirks. "/'I'm' not the amateur who tried to kidnap and ransom the most dangerous heiress in the country." Amateur's eyes flutter— Nate allows herself a smile as the last shred of Amateur's consciousness yields to sleep. Across the garage, a door opens. Nate glances over, raises an eyebrow as she tucks away the sticker. "You've come back to rescue me?" Lamb shrugs. "You seem to be doing fine on your own." Tilts her head toward Amateur. "He have a heart attack or something?" "I don't believe so, but I'm apparently more than he bargained for," says Nate dryly. Lamb snorts. "You, however, seem someone who could handle me—" Glides to her feet. "—and very well, at that." Steps over Amateur. Lamb begins a slow circle, keeping Nate just beyond arms' reach, taps a fingernail against her lower lip. "You /'do' look rather my type and I /'have' been suffering through a bit of a drought." "Mmm ... nothing like a brush with danger to stimulate the libido." Nate shadows Lamb's movement, inching closer every other step. "I find it tends to put me off my feed for a bit." Lamb chooses her stand, arranges her feet. "Perhaps something sweeter will restore your appetite." Nate closes the final few centimeters. A flash of motion. "You're quite good at this." Lamb's stiletto rests against Nate's carotid. "Not so bad yourself." Nate's taser waits just above Lamb's diaphragm. "I didn't figure you for a traditionalist." Lamb shrugs with her aura. "I'm a pragmatist: knives don't need batteries." "Fair point," concedes Nate. "Shall we call this a draw and get on with our night?" "How do you suppose we do that?" Nate hums. "I am quite willing to start again from the point we were so rudely interrupted, if you remain interested." "Tempting, but what's my guarantee you won't hit me with whatever you used on him?" "I only resort to such measures in self-defense." Lamb's eyebrow climbs skeptically. "I also have a very poor memory when it comes to misadventures like this." Nate flicks her taser-free hand. "Water under the bridge, a little harmless drama between friends." Lamb snorts. "My kinda woman." Grins. "On 'three'?" Nate nods, says, "One." "Two." "Three." Stiletto in hidden pocket; taser in bag. "Want me to take care of your new bracelets before we get too distracted?" Nate frowns at the loops of plastic still around her wrists. "These certainly don't complement my outfit." Lamb retrieves her knife, makes quick work of them. "Much better." Nate offers her arm. "Shall we?" Lamb accepts. "We shall." They walk to the door. Lamb hesitates; Nate raises an eyebrow. "Hold up a moment," says Lamb, digging her purses and doubling back to Amateur. /''snickt'' ... /''snickt'' Nate hums approval as Lamb returns and takes her arm. "I'm all for turnabout being fair play, honey, but are you certain that was wise? You've surely left fingerprints on the cuffs." Lamb flicks her head. "Ed there'll never admit a woman played him. Worst case, he'll claim some mildly kinky roleplay went a /'teensy' bit wrong." "Mmm ... they're so /'precious' when they're insecure about their manhood." "Sure makes the job easier," agrees Lamb. "Indeed." Nate rolls her shoulders. "I take it he didn't tell you the whole story when he recruited you." "As usual," grumps Lamb. "Said I needed to distract you while he nicked something. He neglected to mention the 'something' was you." "Why do you keep working with him, then?" "I'll put up with a lot for the kind of money his jobs pay." Lamb shrugs. "Girl's gotta make a living somehow." "Mmhmm." Lamb opens the door for Nate and they step outside. "What'd you stick him with, by the way?" "A fast-acting paralytic mixed with a few knockout drops. He'll be up and about in an hour or so, depending on his metabolism. The resulting hangover, however, will last considerably longer." "You need to tell me where you get that." "I'll introduce you to my supplier." "After we get to know each other better." "Of course," purrs Nate. . Logan bluffs his way through a crap hand, scrapes the pot toward his side of the table. A tumbler of clear, colourless, carbonated liquid appears next to him. He glances up, raises an eyebrow. "Got a moment?" says Lamb. Logan pushes away from the table, pockets his winnings, aims for the back door, opens it for Lamb. She steps through into the alley. "We're officially even, thanks to that tip." Closes the door. "Wasn't aware I owed ye." Lamb huffs. "The Dwyer thing." "Oh." "'Oh'." Logan rubs his neck. "Fine. We're even." "How'd you know where they'd be?" "Idiot has—had—three safe houses." Shrugs. "I guessed right." "How'd you know where /'I'd' be?" Smirks. "Trade secret." Lamb rolls her eyes. "So, why'd you tell me?" "'cause I owed it to Ed." Nasty, nasty grin. She snickers. "Well, I'm pretty sure he feels repaid, with interest." "Exactly what I wanted to hear." Category:Ficlet Category:Logan's workplace Category:Ed Category:Ed (ficlet) Category:Logan Category:Logan (ficlet) Category:Weegie (mention) Category:Lamb Category:Lamb (ficlet) Category:Nate Category:Nate (ficlet)